On That Rainy Night
by birdie-and-the-reaper
Summary: As Lady Macbeth reflects on a problem, Duncan takes his thanes to a tavern and gets them drunk. Macbeth and Banquo gossip, which leads to things... (slash)


Summary: as Lady Macbeth reflects on her life, Duncan takes his thanes to a bar and gets them utterly drunk. Macbeth and Banquo gossip which leads to.... things. 

Pairings: Macbeth/Banquo, Duncan/Macbeth, Ross/Lennox/Angus, Macduff/Concubines, Lennox/Random Lord, a little Macbeth/Lady Macbeth

Disclaimer: the characters belong to Shakespeare, not me. No money made by this, by the way.

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On That Rainy Night

By Birdie

The cold wind howled outside mercilessly, carrying the rain as it beat on the stain-glass windows. She groaned and rubbed her temples: all this noise was giving her a headache. She sank deeper into the hot waters of the bathtub, sinking into it's wet embrace.

__

The mistress looked a little angry, thought the maids as they were dismissed. _She is not usually this distracted. I wonder what was wrong with her._

Lady Macbeth glared at herself as she washed her face. She was indeed angry, not only at herself, but at her husband too. He thought it was a petty thing, but she knew this problem was grave. The fact was: they could not seem to have children.

"Married for five years and not a single offspring," she cursed through gritted teeth. A deep self-hatred arose inside her. "What's the matter with you, woman? Are you infertile? Are you unable?" no, that could not be true: her periods came regularly and she was healthy enough, or so the doctors told her. Just keep on trying, they added.

The woman grumbled under her breath, snaking her hands through her fiery red hair. _Stupid doctors, what did they know anyway? It wasn't like they've ever had children, or were with child. Of course not, they were men. Stupid lousy things..._

No, that was no true either: not all men were stupid. Just some, like her husband Macbeth: thane of Glamis. Glamis was stupid, so small it was hardly shown on any major maps. Why couldn't Macbeth have a nice big place like Ross, Fife or Cawdor? 

Ah yes... Cawdor. That was a big city, with lots of people to rule over and that place had very good trade history. Why couldn't Macbeth have Cawdor instead of Glamis? Both would be better, but greed is a sin. 

Lady Macbeth sighed again. Her brown eyes went soft with emotion: it wasn't Macbeth's fault none of these things happened: it was just that he wasn't very ambitious, never wanting to come top, or be the best. He was always content with second place; it was rather pathetic, she thought.

__

I myself am very ambitious, she wondered idly as she dried herself up and put on a different dress. _Maybe I can get my husband to be... a bit more like me. Mother always said I was a manipulative little... never mind._

Lady Macbeth pushed opened the door and made her way back to the chambers. If she couldn't get cosy Cawdor she'll always settle for cute children. Maybe she wouldn't be having these thoughts if she was busy being a mother, but she could not really be like that for sure. Well, it was time to talk it over with the husband. She opened the heavy oak door, and called: "Macbeth, I really think you and I should...."

There was no reply. She looked around the room, all the furniture were there exactly as she left them, but her husband was definitely not where she had left him. 

She cursed under her breath: _where the heck was he?!_ She paced the castle grounds, calling his name before cursing some more when he did not respond. The porter ran forward, greeting her warmly and rather passionately.

"Good evening madam, greetings to you. Porter here. You look lovely tonight—is that a new dress, absolutely ravishing. What can I do for you, good mistress?" He was a short man who only came up to her shoulders, so he had to look up to talk to her. 

Lady Macbeth glare into his joyful blue eyes: she never really liked their porter, who could out-talk the entire Glamis put together if he had the chance. But he might have some information about Macbeth.

"Have you seen my husband, Lord Macbeth?" the redhead woman asked him.

The little porter thought for a moment, running his hand into his sandy coloured hair. "Hmm... yes madam, I have actually." He said in the end.

"Oh, where is he?" Lady Macbeth asked, smiling with excitement. _Finally... _

"He actually promised me not to tell you," he muttered sheepishly, going a little red. "But I will: he said he was going to Dunsinane Hill, madam." He confessed to her with complete honesty. 

"WHAT?!" the lady flared up, so much so that the fires of hell were almost seen around her.

The porter jumped back, scared of the tall redhead in front of him. "Good king Duncan is having a banquet, and our Lord was invited..."

"AGAIN?!" Macbeth's wife interrupted in disbelief. She huffed, putting her hands on her hips. "What, that's the 3rd time this month." She realised, shaking her head.

"King Duncan is a very... sociable man, madam." Porter told her as-a-matter-of-factly. "Being in a king is a very hard job."

__

Hard my arse... Lady Macbeth thought. _Harder than running a household? I bloody think not. These banquets... bullshit. Last time, Macbeth came back reeking of mead and peasants. _

There was silence between them, only the sound of hard rain splashing onto the floor was heard. The porter held his breath, as if waiting for another outburst of anger. But it never came. Lady Macbeth turned her heels and began to walk quickly in the other direction.

__

Men, she thought to herself as she strode back to her chambers, slamming every door behind her as she went. _Useless pieces of crap, no good for anything except having children and moving furniture. Useless, stupid men. I might as well turn lesbian......_

~*~

At good old Dunsinane Hill, it was also raining rather hard. Inside a large, well equipped tavern, the world outside was dark one, looking cold and almost a world without hope. It was sad and depressing.

__

Just like how I'm feeling right now... Macbeth thought darkly, staring outside the window. He could hardly see anything through the steamy, dripping glass. But he wanted to get out of this place, this bar at any cost. Unfortunately, that was not going to be very easy...

"Macbeth! My worthy thane!" king Duncan called, stumbling forwards. He waved a big glass of mead from side to side, as if it was his walking stick. Duncan sat himself down next to Macbeth and put an arm around Glamis' neck. "It's a nice night, isn't it, Glamis?" he cooed thickly, pressing his face against Macbeth's dark brown hair. 

Macbeth could smell the alcohol from Duncan, and it was frankly rather disgusting seeing the king like this. "Sire, you're drunk. Please let me be..." the brunette hissed, trying to dislodge the man away from him.

"Oh Macbeth, everyone is drinking! Even Banquo!" Duncan pointed to the table next to theirs before took another swig from his cup. Macbeth was shocked: Banquo never drinks anything other than water, the health-obsessed bugger. 

But clearing and surely on the other table: Ross, Angus and Macduff were taking turns getting poor Banquo pissed off his mind while Lennox sat there laughing. Under the table was a snoozing Siward. Macbeth watched in fascination as his best friend's pale face turned from light pink to dark red. Banquo hiccuped and collapsed on the floor. 

"Another one bites the dust..." Ross announced in disappointment, shaking his long, orange hair. Macduff dittoed it, and they both shot down a glass of mead. Macbeth rushed forwards and pulled his sidekick to his feet. He pushed back the blonde bangs that covered Banquo's face and checked for damages. 

"Hello, Macbeth..." Banquo muttered drunkenly, swaying on his feet. He batted his deep blue eyes and gave Macbeth a childish grin. Macbeth rolled his own eyes and threw Banquo onto the chair before sitting down himself.

There was suddenly sparks as Macbeth sat down at the table, all generated by a natural power-source called Macduff. He glared at the brunette next to Banquo. Macduff glared at Macbeth whilst stroking his black, bushy beard. "Good to see you, Macbeth." He said rather flatly.

Macbeth smiled ironically at Macduff. "The same to you, Macduff." He said oily. The brunette didn't like the older man either: they've been sharing disagreements ever since they were children. 

The two locked themselves in a glaring contest. "Still trimming your beard, Glamis?" Macduff asked, pointing to Macbeth's smooth chin.

"Yes, I don't want to be a hairy bear like you, Fife." Macbeth spat back with an insult. He actually was really proud he was hairless, like Banquo. What was the point of beards, anyway? All they do is trap food......

Macduff made a choking noise in surprise. He shot up, as if to start a fight, but then he recollected his senses and muttered: "I'll be leaving now. Back to Fife, to the wife and the concubines—I mean servants!"

The other men around the table raised their eyebrows. There had been rumours of Macduff keeping adolescent sex slaves in the basement, but none of which has been proved. The thane of Fife left quickly, hoping that his deep dark secret would be quickly forgotten. 

Seeing Macduff leave, Ross decided to go too. He pulled Angus and Lennox to their feet with some difficulty. "We will take our leave too," he announced. He looked at his companions and grinned. "We have some... business to attend to, don't we, gentlemen?"

"Farewell then," Macbeth bid them, waving a little. He knew what those three would be up to later that night. "Goodbye Ross. Lennox. Anus."

This did not go unnoticed: Angus spun around and shot Macbeth a deadly glare. But being drunker than anyone in living existent, he laughed it off as if it was a joke and walked back with his 'friends'.

"I feel rather...blonde." Banquo suddenly piped up, a little hazy to the amount of alcohol he had consumed. 

"You are blonde, Banquo." Macbeth snapped, his sentence as cold as ice. He didn't feel comfortable that his best friend was so drunk, seeing how Banquo was the one with the most sense normally.

"Not as blonde as Malcolm, the bitchy little twerp." The man with blue eyes muttered, sinking down until he had his head on the table.

Macbeth raised an eyebrow. Malcolm, the son of Duncan: 'bitchy'? Being a man, the Thane of Glamis didn't quite understand why women liked 'bitching' so much. But hearing Banquo say bad things about the prince was quite original, for Banquo never insults people. Curiosity getting the better of him, Macbeth leaned forward and asked for more information.

"Ah... there is lot I can say about young Malcolm..." Banquo told his best friend with a smirk. Macbeth smirked back a little more broadly, an evil glitter in his grey-green eyes. He ordered them both some wine, knowing this would take quite some time to get through.

"Being Cumberland's godfather, I know everything about him and his family," the blonde man took a little sip of the red wine that was offered to him. "Did you know that every single rumour we've ever heard was started by him?"

"Even the one with Lennox cheating on Ross with that random lord who doesn't even have a name?" Macbeth asked, so excited he was leaning in to hear more.

Banquo nodded with an air of knowledge: something he did not have normally. "Malcolm also said that his father has been trying so hard to get into our pants."

"Seriously?" 

The blonde nodded, before casting quick little glances to the king's table. Macbeth looked over his shoulder too, cautiously and shyly. Duncan saw he was being watched; he gave them a large smile and winked. Macbeth turned as pale as a corpse and swung his head back. "See?" Banquo teased, patting the man beside him on the back.

"Yes, you're right!" Macbeth agreed quickly, nodding his head. "I always thought he was always being affectionate!"

"Being too affectionate is suspicious," Banquo whispered seriously, his eyes hard. "Duncan may seem to be humble, but those sorts compliments are very queer." But he stopped and shrugged. "On a different note," he changed the subject. "Did you know king Duncan annulled his marriage with his wife? Apparently, it was a because she was 'frigid cow'."

Glamis shook his head slowly, his eyes lighting up with amusement. He then frowned, his eyebrows creasing deeply. "Wait... she had two sons: how can she be frigid?" he stopped and grinned sunny smile, showing straight white teeth. "Frigid is my wife! Five years and no children! Can you believe that?"

"Well, it's better than her dying in childbirth..." the blonde man said solemnly, looking deep into his glass of wine as if he was searching for something.

Macbeth swallowed a lump in his throat: Banquo's wife died when she was in labour with their child. Recalling the death of his love was not something Banquo does regularly, if ever at all. There was horrible lingering silence between the two men, and they just sat there in silence while a drunk Caithness stood on the other table singing a dirty song and dancing.

Seeing Banquo wipe a tear from his eye, Macbeth grimaced and forced himself to start conversation again. Besides, speaking could drown out the deafening sounds of Donalbain screaming bloody murder as Caithness started to kick cups in his face.

"How's Fleance?" Macbeth asked, when he suddenly realised he shouldn't have started that sentence. 

Banquo raised an eyebrow: he also realised the major flaw. "You hate Fleance, why do you ask?"

Macbeth shrugged, not daring to speak up. Yes, it was true he hated Fleance: the bratty little retard. Banquo's son had the brain capacity of a pebble, and only half of it works. Forever asking questions that would only trouble a village idiot, the only person who can stand him is his father. Poor Banquo...

"Drugged up is my dear Fleance," Banquo told his friend, drinking some more. "I shoved an insane root in his posset; he should be sleeping for another day or so from now." Banquo cackled at Macbeth's shocked face, throwing his head back in ringing laughter. "No, I'm only joking. Fleance is fine." He stared into Macbeth's green eyes and asked back: "How's your wife?"

The other man scoffed. "Obnoxious and petty, if I may say," he declared rather loudly. "She's been complaining she has not been with child."

"Oh? Aren't you two making love?"

"Yes.... but now that you mention it... very rarely."

"Really? Why is that? Are you impotent?"

Macbeth groaned, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. "Well... sex is getting really boring."

It was Banquo's turn to pale: his eyes widened with shock, but as he swallowed the lump in his throat, he calmed down slightly. He took another gulp of wine and shrugged. "Well, you don't really need a woman for sex. Maybe that'll be better." He suggested, pouring himself another drink.

The dark-haired man took a gulp of the wine too. "True..." he agreed too. "But twosomes are so much more fun than doing it alone." He slowly began to drink a little more.

Banquo suddenly smirked, his body waving tipsily as he tried to steady his hand on the wine-glass. He was very drunk indeed. "You don't need a woman for a twosome."

Macbeth choked on his wine, spluttering most of it out of his mouth. He stared at Banquo in disbelief, his mouth open wide. "Oh my God, Banquo! I can't believe you just said that!"

"Admit it, Macbeth," Banquo slurred, pouncing on the other soldier so his weight was mainly supported by Macbeth's strong frame. "Women never interested you, did they? That is why you don't have any children."

Macbeth gulped as he felt Banquo's hot, liquor-smelling breath tickled his face. "W-well... you can't say much, can you?" he stammered in defence. "If you're so interested in women, you would've married again! You've had 6 years of opportunity." The brunette was glad his voice was strong as iron whilst his body was shaking like leaf in the wind.

Banquo's blue eyes fixed themselves onto Macbeth's green orbs. "You're right, I would have taken another wife if I was interested in women. But I didn't."

"Oh my GOD, Ban--!" 

The sentence was never finished. Macbeth felt soft lips covered his as Banquo silenced him with a kiss. He felt Banquo crawl onto him, straddling him on the chair and luckily, the blonde was not very heavy. Macbeth parted his lips and invited Banquo's tongue into him; the room suddenly became silent even though the noise was steadily increasing; it was as if they shut themselves into a little world of their own. Kissing Banquo actually felt amazingly natural, as if they've been kissing all their lives. It was better than kissing his wife—hell! It was better than anyone else Macbeth had kissed in his life!

The two men broke away reluctantly, staring into each other's eyes. "See?" Banquo grinned, raising an eyebrow. "You don't need a woman to do these things."

Macbeth chuckled softly, pushing Banquo off him. "Yes, you're right..." he admitted in defeat. But his face suddenly became grave and gloomy. "Banquo, we will never be able to do... what a man and a woman do," his lips curved into a sad smile. "You know that, don't you?"

Banquo nodded, biting his lip a little. "Yes, I do," he muttered. He shrugged it off: "There's a lot more things we'll be able to do. And whatever crazy decision you decided to make, I'll always support you."

Glamis' Thane nodded back. "Yes... you're right. Thank you." He pulled Banquo over by the cloak and kissed him again. Behind them, Caithness hit Menteith over the head with a table while Malcolm and Duncan passed out in their chairs. The rain tapped steadily on the windows and doors soundly, as if reminding the people inside the tavern it was still there. But none of it seemed to bother the two soldiers, who sat there kissing in a little dimension of their own.

__

A Month Later...

"Shit!" Macbeth cursed under his breath. He paced his tent, sliding his sword into it's scabbard and putting on his uniform. "Shit!" he cursed again.

Banquo walked into the tent, panting as if he was out of breath. "Macbeth!" he called between breaths. "I got here as fast as I could! The men seem scared! What's going on?"

Macbeth spun around to face the blonde man. "As if you didn't know!" he spat angrily. "The Norwegians suddenly came up with more troops! It looks like 3 hundred new soldiers! They plan for another assault and are coming our way right this moment!"

Banquo took a step backwards in shock and fright. "B-but... how?" 

"Macdonwald, the bastard. He turned to be a double-agent." 

"T-that traitor! 300 men! Bloody hell! What shall we do?"

"There's only one thing we can do," Macbeth muttered seriously. He strapped his armour onto himself. "We'll fight to the death. Banquo, are you with me?"

The second-in-command looked lost. He bit his lip, not knowing what to say. This is suicide, he thought. He felt Macbeth's hand cup his face.

"Banquo, remember a month ago on that rainy night," Macbeth made his friend look into his eyes. "You said that whatever crazy decision I made, you'll always follow."

Banquo nodded, slowly and unsure of himself. But he then smiled and gripped the sword around his waist. "Alright, I'm with you." He concluded. He took Macbeth's arm and pulled him out of the tent towards a sea of battlements and wounded soldiers. It would be a hard battle, but they were good soldiers and maybe luck would be on their side; who knows.

Well, the rest let us say, is history. 

****

The End

A/N: hope you liked that! There aren't a lot of Macbeth slash around (and by the looks of it, only one! And that's done by me too!). Gods, NO ONE reviews Shakespeare until it's been up for like, 4 months of something. So, for shameless advertisement, REVIEW THIS and REVIEW "Maybe It'll Happen", by birdie-and-the-reaper. Rated PG-13.

By the way, this was an English essay and my teacher loved it. Strange, no?


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